Of Riders and Reading
by The Loremaster Alchemist
Summary: The Rider, to whom Reading is everything. Book II of the Scholarly Pursuits.
1. The Obligatory Disclaimer

You are one of many hundreds who sit in the room. It is dark, almost too dark to make out anything of any real significance. What little you can see tells you that it is rather large, designed to seat thousands at a time and yet somehow retains a sort of cozy feeling. You are not quite certain what you are doing here, but you are almost certain that you are dreaming. And this all seems rather familiar.

Before long, the chatter and noise of the other occupants of the room ceases. A light shines down from somewhere in the room, making a circle upon what appears to be a wooden stage. All is silent.

And then there is the sound of footsteps.

They are slow and deliberate, and with every step there is the tell-tale sound of someone walking with support. Into the circle of light steps a young man, no older than eighteen. He stands at around six feet in height and in his pale hand he holds a wooden staff just as tall. His long, dark brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, whilst a pair of thin glasses sit before matching eyes. From the ground up, he is wearing a pair of black leather boots, black trousers and a white shirt with a black waistcoat with a matching tie. There is a silver ring on the forefinger of each hand, engraved with arcane symbols and ancient runes. About his neck, there hangs a silver pentacle on a chain. Over the whole, there is a black leather duster, obviously well-worn and loved. And then the silence is broken, for in a clear and mildly aristocratic voice, he begins to speak.

"Sing, O Muse, or speak, or dance, and so your audience entrance: For voice, or step, or gilded phrase - each art shall mortal minds amaze. But Muse, ensure whatever work is safe from harmful law and clerk, the legal hounds who howl at we who honor creativity. Who honors more an artist's skill? The fan who will the soul distill from artistry, and so conceive new tales from what that art achieved? Or one who simply reads a book and even if their heart is hooked, tells none, nor lets their minds be swept to lands where untouched tales are kept? But yet let needful words be said, which still I treat with grief and dread: I own the narration within, but not the world it happens in. It isn't hard to separate my words from those I emulate. What's mine is mine, what's not is not, I lay no claim to other plots. So guard, Calliope, and Sing! The humble words which I might bring would in your speech flourish and thrive, in ways I could scarcely contrive. And listener, if you would allow just one more moment, here and now to introduce my nascent glory — Sit back, relax and enjoy the story."

The room is understandably silent. It's kind of difficult to respond to something like that. Taking note of this, the man smiles, and continues.

"My Lords, ladies and gentlemen. My friends, old and new. I welcome you once more to this, my home where all fictional dimensions converge, the Library of Eldritch Lore. Our collection is an extensive one, ranging from the mystical to the mundane. Artifacts line the walls, ancient creatures walk our halls and even I am unsure what some of them are. Allow me to introduce myself. I go by many names and titles, but you may call me Rorek. Rorek C. Literatus, also known as the Loremaster Alchemist. I am the autistic and eternal curator, creator and owner of this facility. These are my assistants."

He bangs his staff upon the ground once. A light shines down behind him, illuminating a reasonably attractive young woman, with something of an Asian air about her. She is dressed in a black skirt, with a white shirt and brown waistcoat. At her throat is a red tie and she wears sensible shoes on her feet.

"Firstly, Ms. Mirage Nightray, silver-tongued and fond of illusions. She enjoys a good book and long walks on the beach."

He bangs his staff again. A second light appears, revealing another woman of comparable age to the first. She has glasses and shoulder length mousy brown hair and is dressed the same as Ms. Nightray.

"Secondly, Ms. Belladonna. She likes to draw and write occasionally, and like myself, she is autistic."

Once more, he bangs his staff upon the stage. A third light illuminates a girl, younger than the others, dressed in the same manner as the first two. Long, light brown hair falls down her shoulders.

"Finally... Well, she doesn't exactly have a name. I usually just call her Little Mad, for that is what she is. Poor thing was born insane. Of course, that's not always a bad thing."

A fourth bang and the lights go out. He is alone upon the stage once more.

"Good people, I have gathered you all here to hear a story of my own devising. The settings and characters will likely seem familiar to some of you, for they are not all of my creation. But the story is mine, and mine alone. Some of you will have heard the first part already, and those of you who haven't are welcome to view the recording in the archives."

The light begins to fade. He turns and walks back into the darkness, leaning on his staff as he does so. His voice rings out, echoing about the room.

"And so it is without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, we begin this, the second part of the grand and glorious saga entitled 'The Scholarly Pursuits'. Assuming you're all sitting comfortably, that is."


	2. Of Cake Eating Owls

_Thursday 31__st__ October 1991 (8:05PM)_

Mortimer was just tucking into his third slice of cake when he heard the tapping on the window behind him. Perched upon the sill was a small, brown owl with what appeared to be an envelope tied to its leg. Mortimer had seen many strange things in his time (many of which he had wanted to bring home with him. Alas, Xemnas does not allow pets), but this took the proverbial cake. So he let the bird inside, took the letter, gave it some cake and sent it on its way. And then he noticed the address.

_Mr M. Certadan_

_Fiction Section (Fantasy, Shelves R-T)_

_The Library of Forgotten Tales_

_The Castle That Never Was_

_The Dark City_

_The World That Never Was_

The name was wrong, but it was his address. They even knew the shelves his bed was in. That made him slightly nervous, but he overcame this and opened the letter. It read:

_Dear Mr Certadan, _

_It has recently come to my attention that a certain familial bond exists between us. To elaborate, I am your great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather on your father's side. I realise that this must be extremely confusing for you, and understandably so. Even I would be surprised if a long lost relative appeared from nowhere, so to make things slightly simpler you may address me by my name or as 'Great-Grandcestor'. To confuse matters further, I would like to extend an invitation to you and your guardians for tea and biscuits at my home in Radiant Garden. Feel free to arrive at any time after noon tomorrow. We have a matter of great importance to your future to discuss. Have a happy birthday._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Merlin_

_P.S. I apologise for the briefness of this letter, but I haven't had family to write to for eleven years now. I didn't write to them often enough when I did. _

Mortimer was confused, which was understandable. The letter wasn't. He took the letter over to his father, who said "How does four o'clock sound?"

* * *

><p><em>Friday 1<em>_st__ November (3:50PM)_

"What are you doing?"

Merlin looked up from the table, which was beginning to set itself for four. It was Cid who had spoken. "I am expecting company," he replied. "Family. They should be arriving soon."

"You never mentioned any family before," said Leon from the corner.

"That is because I did not have any to speak of before, and now I have a grandson of sorts," said Merlin, checking his watch. "He and his guardians should be arriving in seven minutes, so I would appreciate it if you stopped talking to me and let me get on with my work."

The time soon passed, and before long a knock came at the door, which promptly opened of its own accord to reveal a boy of a tall and gangly build. His long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, while a few stray bangs fell over his face. This was thin, and of a pale complexion (which was more than likely the result of living on a world of endless night than anything else). A set of oval-framed glasses sat upon his nose (which was slightly larger than average), bringing amethyst eyes into sharp focus. He was dressed in a long black coat with bell-shaped sleeves and with gloves, trousers and knee-high boots of matching colour. He held clasped in his hand a thick and rather heavy looking tome. And then he spoke, saying in a polite fashion "Good afternoon. My name is Mortimer, and apparently you are my many-times Great-Grandcestor. It's an oddly confusing pleasure to meet you."

And then Merlin passed out, for never had he seen such a heavy tome held by one so scrawny.

When he awoke, Merlin was greeted with a sight he had not seen in years. Standing over by the bookshelf was a head of steel-blue hair. "Ienzo?" the old man whispered. The head turned to reveal the face of one who seemed saddened, but with enough dignity to hide it.

"Actually," said the head. "My name is Zexion. But you are for the most part correct. I was Ienzo." The look passed from Zexion's face, and he appeared to brighten. "But that is not why we are here," he said. "How is it you know my son?"

"Your son?" said Merlin, remembering the boy. "He can't be your son."

"He found and raised me. Therefore he is my father in almost every sense of the word," said a voice from above. Perched atop the mountain of books next to Merlin's bed was the boy, an open book on his lap. It was only then that Merlin noticed the purple fez atop his head. "Glad to see you awake at last _Great-Grandcestor_. Would you mind explaining that by the way? The whole 'long-lost relative' thing?"

"Of course," said Merlin. "But come down from there and have some tea. It's rather a long story..."

And Mortimer jumped.


	3. Of Lords and Letters

"Let me tell you all a story," said Merlin, a slight smile playing upon his lips. He sat at the table with Mortimer across from him, while Zexion and Larxene sat on either side of Mortimer. "The first thing you must realise is that I am an old, old man. I shall be one thousand, four hundred and ninety-one come December 25th. So, I shall make this as brief as possible. We have much to discuss. I was born at the beginning of the sixth century on the island of Great Britain, which is located on a distant world known to most of its inhabitants as 'Earth'. We shall pass over my childhood for the moment, as aside from an incident involving a pair of dragons and a tower, it was relatively uninteresting.

We shall instead move forward to the time of the reign of King Arthur, to whom I was an adviser and a friend. To be more precise, the year 602 AD, which also happened to be my one hundred and first birthday. In an incident both surprisingly funny and devastatingly life changing, which involved me being heavily, heavily drunk and a young maiden from London, I fathered a child. This child grew into a man, who married and fathered a son, who grew and married and fathered a son. And so on it went throughout the ages, with the first child being a son who would carry on the line, all of them wizards. In time the magical world forgot the family's heritage, though they still retained their nobility and prestige.

In the year 1973, the British Library was established as an institution in its own right, and as it also contained the largest amount of magical knowledge in the country, the Ministry of Magic decided to appoint someone to protect it. That someone was Zenodotus, Lord Certadan of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Certadan, the current head of the family. While working there, he fell in love with one of the Library's resident Paper Masters, who by bizarre chance was named Morgana. She reciprocated his affection, they got married and seven years later they had a son, whom they named Mortimer, in honour of his paternal grandfather, and Zenodotus in honour of his father. As I am sure you can guess, you are that son and you have inherited both your mother's Paper Mastery and your father's magic."

Merlin paused for breath and continued, "I don't know anything about how you got out here, but I do know that you are of magical blood born in Britain. This brings me to the reason I asked you all here." From somewhere within his voluminous sleeves he produced a letter, and handed it to Mortimer. The letter had the same address as the one Merlin had sent him, and bore a seal consisting of a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle with a 'H' superimposed over them. It read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr Certadan,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress _

It took a moment for all this to sink in, and once it had Mortimer could only say, "Huh."


	4. An Education Accepted

Mortimer stared at the letter in his hand. He looked at Merlin and asked, "What does this mean?" Merlin's smile was wider now.

"That, my boy, is an education. And you may have it if you wish."

"An education?" repeated Mortimer. "An education in what? And where? And for how long?"

Merlin took a sip of his tea, and calmly replied, "To answer your first question first, you are a wizard, as I have already said. As such, you would receive an education in the magical arts. To answer your other questions, Hogwarts is located somewhere in Scotland, which is in the north of Britain, and an education there typically lasts seven years." There was the sound of a cup being drained, and then of it being placed upon the table.

"So," said Mortimer, slowly and deliberately. "To clarify, I am a wizard, and consequently am entitled to a magical education spread over the course of seven years on a distant world, if I choose to accept it? Will I be allowed home for the holidays?"

"I see no reason why not," said Merlin, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Though I think you can stay there during them as well."

"Does it have a library?" asked Mortimer.

Merlin nodded enthusiastically. "The school is famous for its library!"

Mortimer turned to his parents and said, "Do you have a problem with any of this?"

To which his father replied "I think it's a great opportunity. One you would be wise not to turn down."

And his mother (with a smirk) "Sure. It'll be good to be rid of you for a while."

Mortimer turned back to his grandfather. "I'll do it."

"Excellent," said Merlin, an even wider smile on his face. "I'll send the reply immediately. How about we meet up again in a few months to get your supplies?"


	5. The Black Book

_Thursday 16__th__ July 1992 (8:00AM)_

_Merlin's House_

Mortimer stepped through the door. Merlin was sitting at the table, enjoying a cup of tea. He looked up, and smiled in greeting. Mortimer returned the gesture, and joined him at the table. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of his father entering the room, following by his uncle Luxord.

"Merlin," began Zexion. "Larxene and I have been given a mission, so we won't be joining you today. This is Luxord, Mortimer's godfather. He'll go with you."

"Hail," said Merlin, in his most mysterious manner.

"Hail," said Luxord, oddly anxious to make a good impression.

Mortimer had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. He didn't pay it any mind. With the formalities taken care of, Zexion left safely on his way, and a wave of Merlin's wand they were gone.

They appeared in the middle of a vast alleyway. Shops lay on either side, stretching as far as the eye could see. People milled about in all directions, dressed in robes of every colour and cut Mortimer could imagine. At one end of the alley was a large building of white marble, which Merlin identified as being 'Gringott's Wizarding Bank' and their first destination.

They entered the bank through a set of large bronze doors and made their way into the lobby. Goblins sat behind desks performing transactions, filling in forms and otherwise working towards the stabilization of the Wizarding economy. Scores of witches and wizards were lined up in front of them, each waiting for their turn. Mortimer was thus introduced to one of his native people's oldest talents. On that day, stood in line in a land whole worlds away from the home he had known his entire life, Mortimer Zenodotus Certadan II learnt how to queue. That skill would serve him well many times throughout his life, though he did not know it.

The line eventually thinned out, and it was not long before they reached the front.

"Excuse me," said Merlin politely, producing a key from within his voluminous sleeves. "We would like to make a withdrawal from Vault 612..."

Fully half an hour later Mortimer emerged back into the sunlight, a bag of gold under his arm. A surprisingly heavy bag of gold. A surprisingly heavy bag of gold that contained within but a small fraction of what his parents had left him. He handed the bag to his godfather and reached into his pocket, pulling out his list of school supplies.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

Uniform

_First-year students will require:_

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

_3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_

Set Books

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ by Miranda Goshawk_

A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot_

Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling_

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch_

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore_

Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger_

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander_

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble_

Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart_

Gadding with Ghouls _by Gilderoy Lockhart_

Holidays with Hags _by Gilderoy Lockhart_

Travels with Trolls _by Gilderoy Lockhart_

Voyages with Vampires _by Gilderoy Lockhart_

Wanderings with Werewolves _by Gilderoy Lockhart_

Year with the Yeti _by Gilderoy Lockhart_

Other Equipment

_1 wand_

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set brass scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS _

They headed over to Madam Malkin's to get Mortimer fitted for his robes, and Merlin refused to allow him to purchase a hat.

"No descendant of mine will wear some store-bought hat!" he had said. "I'll have one made for you." On this, Merlin was adamant, and so Mortimer grudgingly acquiesced. After obtaining the necessary measurements and the rest of his school uniform (complete with name tags), they went to Flourish and Blott's for books. This took them a good hour at the least, partly because it was a large shop, but mostly because Luxord had to literally drag Mortimer away from the shelves.

Next on the list was a wand, and so the threesome entered the fine and respectable establishment of Ollivanders (Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC). Mortimer had been looking forward to this. The shop was small and dusty. Row upon row of shelf upon shelf of boxes of wands lined the walls. Stood behind the desk at the front of the shop was an old man with wide, pale eyes. This was Mr. Ollivander, and he began to speak.

"Unicorn hair and Black Walnut. Fourteen and a half inches long. Excellent for Charms work. And it was rather rigid if memory serves. That was your father's wand, Mr Certadan. Are you here for yours?" Mortimer simply nodded.

"Excellent," said Mr Ollivander, taking out a measuring tape. "Shall we get started?"

Two and a half hours later, a large pile of used wands sat upon the desk. They had tried every single wand in the shop, and not one of them had worked. There hadn't even been an explosion. By this time Mortimer had grown bored, and so he took from his pocket a small man made from paper and made him dance upon the desk.

"Mortimer?" said Merlin, a note of exasperation in his voice. "Why didn't you tell me you could do that?"

Mortimer looked up at him, the confusion evident on his face and said, "What do you mean? I thought you knew."

Merlin sighed. "I thought you could do relatively small things. Make weaponry, paper aeroplanes, that sort of thing. You are manipulating a paper construct with minimal training! It's a small one, but still... Your gift is obviously stronger than I thought." Merlin turned to face Mr Ollivander, who had been watching the little man with some mild interest.

"The boy is a Paper Master. I have a feeling that it may have drastically altered his magical core. There is a chance that he will be incapable of using a wand because of it."

Mr Ollivander sighed the sigh of a man who has devoted all his life to a task, only to discover that it is impossible. "Well, I had a feeling that this might happen", he said. "But I will not deny that I wished with all my heart that it had not. Mr Certadan?" Here he turned to Mortimer.

"I have been a wandmaker for over seventy years. I took over this shop from my father, who took over it from his father, and he took it over from his. In all that time, I have had countless customers and I remember each and every one of them. Your father was one of the few that I considered a friend. He showed such promise as a wandmaker, although he regrettably never took up the trade himself." His eyes, already grey, seemed to mist over as he became momentarily lost in recollection.

After a moment, he continued. "Now, thirteen years ago, he came to me asking for help with a project of his. The concept was both immensely interesting and rather ambitious. It was also remarkably complicated, but I'll try and explain it as simply as possible. He wished to create a book, capable of recording and storing information relating to all magic, updating itself as its owner continued to learn. In addition, it was intended to facilitate the casting of spells rather like a wand, although it was nowhere near as complex as one. As I have always said, Mr Certadan, the wand chooses the wizard. It is not always clear why. There is a wand out there for everyone, and a person for every wand. Some wands can be used by more than one person, although you will never get results quite so good as you would using your own wand. This book of which I speak was not like that. Your father designed it to open only for the person for which it was bound. I never understood why he did so, as such a book could have revolutionized wizardry as we know it. An automatically updating magical encyclopaedia containing every last bit of magical knowledge the owner had ever learned which could be used in place of a wand."

Mr Ollivander paused for breath, looking wistful as he did so. Talking for three or four minutes with only the smallest of breaks will do that to a person. "In any case, your father never told me the reason for it, nor what had inspired him to create such a thing. However, after meeting you I feel that I can hazard a guess. I think that that book was intended for you, Mr Certadan. A wand for someone who cannot use a wand. But even if I am right, it would do us little good. Once we had finished, your father took the book with him and I have not seen it since. I suppose I could try to make another, but without your father's help, it could take me many years."

"There's no need for that," said Luxord who had remained silent since they had entered the shop. He took from the pocket of his coat a book, bound in black leather and bearing the design of a pentacle in silver leaf upon the cover, and handed it to Mortimer. "Zexion told me that this was in the bundle with Mortimer when he found him. He has never been able to open it. I was supposed to ask around about it if we had time when we were done shopping." So saying, he laid it on the shop counter, that all present might look upon it. Mr Ollivander stared at the tome with those old, grey eyes of his.

"I believe that this is it. It all seems to be there. The silver seal, the dragon-hide cover... Mr Certadan, before you open it, I'd like to tell you something."

Mortimer turned to the old man, and saw that he was smiling. It was a warm smile. "Yes, sir?"

"You look a great deal like your mother. A delightful woman, particularly for a Muggle. You have her hair, although she did not pull it back. You have her ears, and a slight hint of her nose. You even have similar glasses. But you have your father's eyes, just as he had his fathers. He was a good man, and I am glad to have known him. If that book works as your father intended it to, I do not think we shall see each other again. If that should be the case, I'd like to shake you by the hand, Mr Certadan, and wish you well." With that, he extended his right hand. Mortimer took it with his own, and shook it.

"Mr Ollivander?"

"Yes?"

"How does it work?"

Garrick Ollivander gave a laugh. "I've no idea. We were never able to test it."

Mortimer took the book in hand and opened it at the first page. No sooner had he done this then there was a blinding flash of light, and things began to get interesting. The blank page began to fill with words, the ink appearing as though an invisible hand wrote them in. They read:

_The Grimoire_

_Ex Libris_

_Mortimer Zenodotus Certadan II_

And in the centre of the page was a simple coat of arms: Sable, a bat volans argent. As if of its own volition, the page turned to the freshly-written introduction:

_To our darling Mortimer,_

_As a result of your uncommon heritage, there is a strong chance that you will inherit both our gifts. This also means that you may be unable to use a wand. We anticipated this eventuality, and prepared for it using your father's extensive fortune. We spared no expense. Thus was the Grimoire bound in the skin of a naturally-deceased Hebridean Black Dragon and the wood of Bowtruckle-guarded laurel trees. The pages are held together by Unicorn tail hair. The spells and enchantments necessary to power and safeguard the Grimoire were written in with a Phoenix feather quill using ink made from, among other things, your own blood. As a result of all this, the book is completely indestructible. It will act as a record of all you have learnt, filling in the pages with the knowledge you acquire, and making new ones as it needs them. It requires neither ink nor pen, and will keep its outward appearance regardless. There is also a journal, of sorts, in the back. From this day forth until the day you die, your story is written, your life set out on paper. _

_The arms you saw as you opened the book are to be used as your personal crest. They were determined based on your favourite colours (whilst keeping to the rules of heraldry) and the animal that you identify with the most (though you may not initially understand why). It will change over time to match your accomplishments and social standing. You may choose what changes are made, but the original must remain as it is._

_Know that we love you, even if we aren't there, and that we always will. _

_You and only you may channel your power through the Grimoire. Use that power wisely, with valour and virtue._

_Your loving parents,_

_Zenodotus and Morgana Certadan _

It was too much to take in.

One day, far from this time, Mortimer would look back on this and wonder if he did the right thing.

He probably had.

The Grimoire dropped from his hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Mortimer sank to his knees and began to cry.


	6. A Small Change

In the weeks that followed, Mortimer read as though it were for the first time. That is to say, with a great and insatiable hunger. His eyes lingered over each page, drinking up the ink-laden words as though it were a particularly well brewed cup of tea, savouring the taste of each and every chapter. He had torn through his school books and adored them all, aside from those written by the apparently egocentric Mr Lockhart.

The Grimoire soon contained sections on Defence against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Magizoology, Potions, Transfiguration and both the history and the theory of Magic, categorised alphabetically and with illustrations where appropriate.

On Saturday the first of August, Zexion brought him to his mother in the Grey Area, and said "Now, I realise we don't spend much time together anymore, and soon we won't be able to for a while. So, I have spoken to Xemnas, and he has very kindly allowed your mother and I to have the day off that we might spend it with you. Do you have any ideas on what you would like to do?"

Mortimer considered this momentarily before saying "I should like to visit the city of Dor Ar eb, on the world that Uncle Luxord and I explored last year."

Within minutes, they stood in the surprisingly expansive streets of the desolate city. The sun was rising behind the western mountains nearest the city, and it was towards these that they made their way through the winding streets, following a strange scent that had been picked up by Zexion. Every once in a while they would turn a corner and find the Heartless seeking to deter them from their quest, an endeavour as fruitless as it was stupid and which the Heartless soon regretted.

Things carried on like this for a further four hours, with only a scarce few tea and bathroom breaks in between. In an attempt to relieve the monotony, Zexion told a story of great heroes and powerful wizards and of how the smallest of things can make all the difference.

Eventually, they came to the mouth of a large and spacious cave. It looked as though it had been lived in, though not for many years now. As they entered, Zexion stopped and waved his hand. The sound of something being moved aside emanated from the back of the cave. Upon investigating this, Mortimer found only a large black stone roughly a foot in length.

He reached out his hand to this stone and gently brushed his fingers against it.

The stone began to crack.

And it kept on cracking.

A piece rose from the top and fell to the floor.

A head emerged, closely followed by a neck attached to a torso, and attached to that was two pairs of legs and a set of wings.

Standing calmly before him was a dragon.


	7. Preparations

His left hand, stretching towards the scales...

A searing pain like liquid fire and ice shooting through his arm...

A presence in his mind where none was before...

And then, there was darkness.

* * *

><p>When Mortimer awoke, it was to find himself tucked up in the Library. His clothes lay on a chair next to his bed, and near those was his satchel. He went to get it, but couldn't. And then he noticed the weight on his chest. It rose and fell with every breath he took. He could feel its heart beat with every second that passed by. And then the dragon looked at him. He reached out to touch it, and then he noticed his hand. For in the centre of his left palm was a shining silver diffused spiral oval, aglow with light. Deciding to pay it no mind for the moment, he reached out once more and the dragon was soon purring with contentment beneath his fingers. They stayed like this for what seemed like hours, simply enjoying each other's company.<p>

After a while, Mortimer's stomach began to quake with hunger, and so he resolved to feed it. Feeling too lazy to dress, he instead donned his dressing gown and scooping the dragon up into his arms made for the door. The halls and corridors of the castle were quiet as he made his way to the kitchens.

Luxord knew little of what had transpired the previous day, having only just returned from Wonderland himself. Therefore, it is safe to view his reaction to his godson entering the room with a dragon in his arms as being perfectly reasonable given that it departed from the traditional British calm. His godson's response could be viewed in much the same way, as it consisted entirely of the simple words:

"Good morning to you as well Uncle. Do we have any bacon?"

As it transpired, they did have bacon. This was mostly set aside into a pile for the dragon, after being cut up into easily snappable strips. The rest Mortimer cooked for his breakfast. He sat at the table, mug of tea in hand, watching the dragon eat. Less than a week had passed and already a bond was beginning to grow between them. It was then that his mother entered the room, and Mortimer wondered idly where his father was.

* * *

><p>"Professor Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not to mention the Chief Warlock of the Wizenagamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Holder of the Order of Merlin, First Class, for Grand Sorcery. By all accounts, a most Famous Wizard. It is a great pleasure to meet you Professor Dumbledore, and I am sorry for bothering you so early in the morning."<p>

The many-titled, slightly-addled old man looked serenely at his guest.

"Not at all Mr..." He trailed off.

"Call me Zexion Professor. I regret that I have no last name, on account of not existing." If Dumbledore was taken aback by this, he did not show it.

"Very well then Zexion. Might I inquire as to how you do not exist, given that you are currently sitting on my most comfortable sofa?"

"It's surprisingly simple actually, especially to a man of your learning. You are aware of the three elements needed to create life?"

"I'm afraid I must confess that I do not."

"No matter. Three things combine to create life. Body, Heart and Soul. The Body acts as a vessel for the Heart and the Soul. The Soul animates the Body, and is in turn controlled by the Heart. The Heart is responsible for many things, such as memory and the capacity to feel emotion. Do you understand me so far?" Dumbledore nodded, so Zexion continued. "All things are made up of varying quantities of Light and Darkness. The Heart is no different. When a Heart is lost to Darkness, a being known as a Heartless is created. They are essentially the living incarnation of the Darkness of the Heart. They act purely on instinct, totally incapable of rational thought with their only goal being to find more Hearts and to consume them, thus making more of their kind. Sometimes, an exceptionally strong-willed person will lose their Heart. When this happens, the Body and Soul left behind will begin to act with a mind of its own. The resultant creature is known as a Nobody. Unlike the Heartless, Nobodies are able to think for themselves, and attack with definite planning. I am Nobody. I am devoid of emotion. I am unable to feel pity, or anger, or joy, or sadness."

Dumbledore stared at the younger man, eyes full of respect.

"Or love."

There was a soft pop, and a loud sob came from somewhere next to Zexion's left hip. He glanced down, and saw to his mild astonishment a large head with wet, bulbous eyes. He decided to speak to it.

"Hello," he said. The head looked up at him with tears streaming down its cheeks, and nodded in greeting. With the formalities out of the way, Zexion decided to push on and speak to the head again, this time a little more kindly, and said "What are you doing?" At this, the head moved and the body attached to it sat up.

"Busiby is sorry sir! It's just so sad!" And then Busiby (for it was the... thing's name) hugged him and disappeared, leaving Zexion alone with Dumbledore and a slightly damp coat.

"Well," he said. "That was odd. On an unrelated note, why are you wearing a Stetson?" For the old man was indeed wearing a Stetson. A most excellent Stetson. If Stetsons were jewels, Dumbledore's head would have been fabulously wealthy. You get the idea. It was, in essence, a nice hat.

"Honestly?" said Dumbledore. "I have no idea. Although I must confess that I'm surprised you didn't ask about the shocking pink bathrobe. Or the rubber duck." Zexion simply smiled and replied "I would never begrudge a man his bathrobe in his own home, regardless of its colour. And few more than I understand the value of a rubber duck. But that is not why I came here."

"Then why did you come here?"

* * *

><p>"So let me get this straight. That stone I touched was an egg. That egg hatched almost immediately afterwards, and revealed a dragon. When I touched that dragon, there was a large burst of magical energy, I passed out for a day and now the dragon and I have effectively bonded on a primal level causing me to inadvertently and unofficially join the ranks of the Dragon Riders spoken of in the history and mythology of that world. Is that what you're saying?"<p>

Larxene looked at him with an amused expression on her face. "That's pretty much it. Your father was able to retrieve books and the like from that city which should tell us what to expect, and he's gone to speak to the headmaster of that school in order to make preparations." She caught the confused expression on his face. "What are you? Stupid? Think about it for a moment. You and the dragon are linked. You are bonded on the most basic level. You really think we'd send you off to school without it? Not to mention the fact that it's going to grow. You won't be able to keep it in your dorm, you know." Mortimer conceded that this was fair enough. "So," he said. "What can we expect?"

* * *

><p>"If my calculations are correct, then by the time school starts the dragon will be too large to fit on the train. It will, however be just large enough to ride. I therefore propose that the train leave with both my son and the dragon on the platform, and they will follow behind it. Does this sound agreeable?"<p>

Dumbledore looked (for lack of a better word) mildly flustered. Something such as this had not occurred in all the days of Hogwarts. Students could panic at the prospect of sharing grounds with a dragon, and then there were the parents to consider... Well, much the same had happened with Remus, and he had been allowed to stay. Let it never be said that Albus Dumbledore was not a fair man. He had made his decision.

"Very well. The young Mr Certadan shall be allowed to do this. I have only one concern."

"And that is?"

"It is a day's journey from London to Hogwarts, especially as your son will need to keep speed with the train. That is a lot of ground to cover, and there is the possibility that someone may see him."

Zexion grinned and stood up. "Professor, I thank you for your hospitality. It has been a most agreeable discussion." He made his way over to the shadows on the back wall, which even as he moved seemed to grow... darker? Dumbledore called from his armchair, "But Zexion? What about this problem?" Zexion laughed as he stepped into the shadows.

"Problem, Professor?", he said, with a grin. "How do you think I got in here?" And then he was gone, and the light returned to the room.


	8. The Privateer

It is an amusingly common misconception that the varying types of Lesser Nobody are incapable of audible speech, and are consequently reliant entirely on mental communication. For the most part, this is true. However, there are exceptions to the rule. As you might expect, when the time had come to create specialized Nobodies, the Organization had had no idea where to begin. Their initial experiments revolved around the natural flexibility of the Dusk. They twisted its form, elongating its limbs whilst shortening others. The result was the Lesser Nobody known as the Creeper. After producing a significant quantity of these, they resumed their experimentation. This time, they focused on bestowing certain abilities on a Dusk, changing its form in the process. From these attempts, many Nobodies were created, and each type given a name. These were (in order of creation) the Sorcerer, the Sniper, the Dragoon, the Chemist, the Knight, the Mimic, the Berserker, the Assassin, the Dancer, the Gambler, the Ninja, the Reaper and the Samurai. Each of them was excellent in its own way, but there was still a problem. None could speak.

For the most part, there was no issue with this. After all, they were servants only, pawns to be used. What use had they for words? Then Zexion, that master of words and strategy alike, came to a realisation. The Organization had yet to come up with a Nobody to serve in the Superior's Silver Armada, the great interstellar navy of the non-existent. A specialized sailor class, if you will. Such a Nobody would have to be well suited to the job, capable of both ranged and melee combat, and able to function as a unit without the presence of their masters. To that end, Zexion began work.

He began with a Dusk, as they had with all previous attempts, and modified its basic shape. He took the points of its arms, and remade them into hands. He straightened and thickened its legs somewhat, making it steadier on its feet. The shape of the head he made to more closely resemble that of a human, and the feet to be more like the same.

Once this was done, he began to 'dress' his creation, starting things off with a pair of light grey pantaloons, tucked into a set of black knee-high boots. The pantaloons were held up by a black belt with an ornate silver buckle fashioned after the Organization's emblem. He gave it a light grey shirt, and covered the whole ensemble with a dark grey _justacorps_. A dark grey bandana was placed upon the head, followed by a black tricorn hat. Upon the belt, he gird a simple cutlass in scabbard, and tucked a pistol into the pantaloons for good measure.

He then imbued them with the knowledge of speech, and named them Privateer. They had been in the service of the Organization ever since, and they had served well.

It was for that reason that they had been chosen to crew their newest ship.

It was for that reason that on Monday 17th August in the year 1992, at around twelve o'clock in the afternoon, Zexion, Mortimer and a week old dragon walked down a street towards the dockyards.


	9. Sausages

As they walked down the street towards the docks, an odd thought struck Mortimer. Now, Mortimer had many odd thoughts (or at least thoughts that would be considered strange by so-called 'normal' people), so there was hardly anything out of the ordinary about another one. Or at least, there wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary about it if it weren't for one simple fact.

The thought wasn't his.

He stopped dead in his tracks, and said simply "Oh." At this, his father stopped and turned.

"What is it?" asked Zexion. The dragon turned to face them, a look strangely reminiscent of amusement on its face. Mortimer simply stood there, as though attempting to collect his thoughts, which incidentally was surprisingly close to the truth.

Imagine that you have spent your entire life inside a cave of sorts, which has no entrance and no exit. Leave aside the problems of food, drink and the like for the moment. Just make the assumption that such a cave exists, and that you are within it. You were born in this cave, and you expect that you shall die in there, having never encountered the rest of the world. Now, imagine if that cave were to suddenly fall away around you, leaving you exposed for all to see. Anything could happen. You could be attacked by another, at any time and without warning. You could try and rebuild the cave wall, that you may better defend yourself should an attack occur. You could wander off, and never find your way back. If you can picture all of that, if you can try to understand what that feels like, then you will have some indication as to how Mortimer felt at that moment.

The walls of the sanctum of his mind were no more. In the blink of an eye, they had gone, and in their place there was a feeling. An odd sort of feeling. Like affection, and curiosity in one, and it had come from outside his mind.

Or rather, from within it.

"Mortimer?" said Zexion, a touch of concern in his voice. Indeed, had he been capable of it, it would have been genuine. "Mortimer? Are you alright son?"

The feeling came again. Affection, and curiosity about something, though what that was Mortimer could not tell. This time, however, there was another feeling to accompany the first.

It was reassurance, followed by the physical sensation of something rubbing against his hand, something warm, and scaly. Only then did Mortimer realise that he had had his eyes shut since he had stopped moving. He opened them, and saw the head of the dragon, looking up at him. He began to stroke its head in turn, and began to ponder. "Was that you?" asked Mortimer, understandably a tad wary of what the answer could mean. The dragon nodded. "Huh." said Mortimer. "Well, if that's going to keep happening, I'm going to have to teach you English. Emotions are confusing enough as it is. Could I share my memories of the language with you? Is that possible?" Again, the dragon nodded. "Great. Just give me a moment to find them." Within a few minutes, he had located the relevant information and sent it along the link.

"Mortimer. Will you please explain what's going on?" asked Zexion, who had been standing there for at least ten minutes now.

"I'm not actually sure, but I believe it's a form of telepathy. Right now, it can only communicate via emotion, so I'm sharing my memories of the English language to simplify matters." replied Mortimer. He turned to the dragon, and said "Do you think you can look at those and walk at the same time? It's just that we do have a lot to be getting on with." The dragon nodded, and set off along the road again, followed closely by Zexion and his son.

"So then Father, what exactly are we doing down here?" asked Mortimer as they neared their destination.

"We are down here so that you may pick out a crew for your ship, Mortimer," replied his father. "More specifically, we are here so that you may choose a first mate. Ah, here we are." The building they stood before was large and crooked in places. Zexion snapped his fingers. At this signal, a veritable army emerged from out of a multitude of portals. Row upon row upon row of Privateers stood before them, lined up as though they were to parade. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," said Zexion, raising his hands in greeting, then gesturing to his left. "This is my son, Mortimer." As one, the congregation turned to face the boy, and snapped their arms up in salute. "In two weeks time," Zexion continued, "He leaves for school, taking this fine young dragon with him. To do so, he will need a ship and a crew. Therefore, we have decided to select one from among your number. Would ten of those highest in rank kindly step forward for inspection?"

Ten stepped out of the ranks of the many. Zexion took Mortimer to the end of the line closest to them, and began to introduce each one in turn. "Mortimer, this is Mr. Squiggleson."

"A pleasure, sir," said Mortimer, taking the Nobody's hand and shaking it enthusiastically.

"No, sir," said Mr. Squiggleson, in a delightfully upper class English accent. "The pleasure is mine."

"Do you enjoy your work, Mr. Squiggleson?" asked Mortimer, curious as ever.

"I regret, sir, that I cannot," replied the Privateer.

"Of course not. My apologies. Do excuse me." And so saying, Mortimer moved down the line, there to be introduced to a Mr. Stoatman, a soldier of some renown and impeccable service. In near rapid succession, Mortimer was introduced to and shook the hands of a Mr. Murderface, a Mr. Deathbringer, a Mr. Crowley, a Mr. Bloodaxe-Fitzgerald, a Mr. Mindblowingly-Evilton, a Mr. Necrophilliac, a Mr. Shamrock, and finally a Mr. Silver. This last was particularly interesting, as not only was he among the oldest of the Privateers, his colours were inverted. As Zexion had explained, he was suffering from the effects of sleep-deprivation when he had made him, and something had gone wrong. Where the others were light, he was dark. Where they were silver, he was black, and vice versa. Hence, the name Silver. It is perhaps also of interest to note the fact that he sounded uncannily like a certain Mr. Timothy Curry, though none present knew it.

"So, Mr. Silver, tell me something. Do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders without question in the face of the strange, unusual and almost certain chance of death?" In response to this query, the Privateer leaned in close to Mortimer's face, and whispered in his ear.

"I cannot feel fear, sir."

At that moment, a strange and beautiful voice spoke in his mind, and it said _"I like him." _

Mildly startled, Mortimer turned to the dragon, and said "You know, your mind has a beautiful voice. You think we should take him?"

The dragon nodded, and said _"I do. He seems the best choice. Not to mention the fact that you'll never get him mixed up with the others."_

Mortimer inclined his head slightly in agreement. "Very well then. Mr. Silver?"

"Sir?"

"You're hired. Pick out a crew, and meet me here again tomorrow morning for inspection."

"Very good, sir."

And so, they strode away from the docks, and made their way back towards the castle.

"Father?" Zexion stopped and turned to face him.

"Yes, Mortimer?"

"Not that I'm complaining, but who came up with those slightly gruesome and mildly horrific names?"

"Oh, Naminé I think. We like to give her something to do from time to time."


	10. Drunk Science

"_You know," _said Mortimer, speaking into his mind. "_You need a name. After all, everyone should have one, and I can't keep calling you Dragon. Would you agree?" _The dragon nodded its head in confirmation.

"_I would. May I choose my own, or will you do it?"_

"_Oh, you can do it, I think. I hardly think I'm qualified to think of a name for a Dragon. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll make a game of it. If you haven't thought of one by the time we arrive at King's Cross Station on Earth in two weeks time, then I'll think of one for you. Now, how does that sound?"_

"_That actually sounds mildly amusing."_

"_Excellent. I'd best begin thinking immediately, just in case. Are you a boy or a girl?" _At this, the dragon looked at him, and answered in that strange and beautiful voice.

"_I'm a girl. Do you mean to tell me that we've known each other for a week or two now, and you still haven't figured that out?" _Mortimer put up his hands, as though to defend himself.

"_Well, I don't know much about Dragons, do I? At least, not your kind."_

"_My kind? You mean I'm not the only sort of Dragon?"_

"_Oh yes. There are scores of them, found on many of the different worlds. I mean, even the Heartless have their own breeds of Dragon. Or there are Heartless that look like Dragons. I'm a little unclear on that. In any case, I can identify the species of a Heartless Dragon on sight, and list its weaknesses in under a minute. My father's education has seen that I am not unprepared for my enemies. Speaking of which, we should probably get going. Uncle Vexen wanted to speak to us."_

"_Then let us away." _And with that, they walked to the library door. Mortimer held it open for the Dragon to pass before him, and then followed her as they made their way towards the laboratory.

"_Why do you spend so much time in there? The room with all the white-and-black things."_

"_Do you mean the Library?" _The Dragon dipped her head.

"_I think so, yes." _

"_It happens to double up as my bedroom. When I first came here, I slept in my father's room. Then I was given my own room, on the same floor as the others. But I spent so much time in the library that they eventually just moved me in there for the sake of convenience. It was either that or keep on replacing the door every time I woke in the night, needed to read and cut my way in. Incidentally, those white-and-black things, as you call them, are called books." _

"_Books... Books..." _She repeated the word as though tasting it, savouring the sound and shape of it with whatever the mental equivalent of a tongue might be. _"An interesting word. What did you say you did with them?"_

"_I read them. Quite often, actually. Some would say too much."_

"_Why do you read?"_

"_Good question. It might be because of my biological mother and what she was and by extension what I am. It might be because my father Zexion enjoys it, and he taught me to love it too. It could be any one of a thousand reasons or more, but I can honestly say I don't know what that reason is. What I do know is that there is a joy I find in reading that I find nowhere else. To lose myself in one of a million different oceans of ink and paper, each word an island paradise of black sands in an otherwise barren and featureless world... A new adventure with every chapter, a fresh start with every page, a new wonder with every line... And once the adventure is over, I can close the book and return to my own World of night and beauty, safe in the knowledge that I can go back any time I want, simply by rereading the book. It is perfection to me. Nothing can compare to it."_

"_Can... Can I read books as well?" _This seemed more hesitant, as one who broaches a subject deemed forbidden.

"_You want to read? Don't be ridiculous. You don't know how, for one thing." _At this, the Dragon slowed her walk a little, giving off the same sort of impression one might get while observing a little girl who had been told she was unable to have sweets. _"I suppose that means I'll have to try and teach you. If you want to learn, that is. Ah, here we are." _Mortimer pushed the door open and held it for the Dragon.

The laboratory was impressive. Machinery and apparatus lined the walls, while half-finished inventions lay on the tables and experiments bubbled away merrily in the corner. Given a year to look around and study what lay within, most would still find themselves incapable of understanding it all, much less do it themselves. It is perhaps ironic then that their creator was incapable of such a thing himself in six out of ten cases, as he was not quite himself when he did so. "Uncle Vexen!" Mortimer called as he made his way through the veritable labyrinth of scientific and occasionally esoteric paraphernalia. "Are you in here?"

"Over here, boy," said a voice from somewhere within a heap of cables and empty bottles. "And in Ansem's name, do not shout. My head hurts badly enough as it is." For Vexen was a veritable master of that oldest and most noble of substance-assisted scientific fields: Drunk Science.

It had begun simply as a means to cope with the fact that he had become something that should not exist, and indeed did not exist according to the laws and principles he as a scientist had built his life around. The fact that despite those same laws and principles he was quite obviously still there had been upsetting for him at the time to say the very least. Then he had discovered alcohol. Even had always abhorred the idea of consuming alcohol, reasoning that anything that so upset the balance of a man's mind was surely _not meant_ to be drunk, and should in fact be reviled. Vexen, on the other hand, had reasoned that since he was no longer _meant to be_, he had no reason to care if he should or he shouldn't. In true mad scientific style, he had cast aside morality in his quest for the truth. The fact that he could enjoy it cold whenever he wished didn't hurt either. No sooner had that first drop of whiskey passed his lips, he had blacked out. When he awoke the next day, he discovered that he had a pounding head and that he had somehow built a device capable of producing miniature figurines of whomever it was aimed at. And so, his drunken crusade against ignorance began. These days, he no longer blacked out straight away, able to remain awake up until the point the booze began to wear off. Despite this apparent lucidity, he was still incapable of recreating many of the fruits his intoxicated labour had brought forth, although he was the only non-being in the history of history to reverse-engineer his own creations out of lack of understanding. He didn't get drunk all the time, choosing to restrict himself mainly to the weekends. He had dug himself out of such piles as the one he currently lay in on many a Monday morning in the years past. Today, however, there was no need, for an arm had just appeared in search of him.

Mortimer felt a hand grasp his own, and pulled. A reasonable amount of long, blonde hair appeared, followed by a thin, slightly effeminate face and a black-clad body. The Chilly Academic soon stood before him, dusting himself down, a look of mild pain crossing his features with every clink of bottle on bottle. Mortimer grinned. "You wanted to see me, Uncle?"

"Yes. Both of you, actually. If you could just direct it to that space over there, I can take some measurements." He gestured absent-mindedly at a clear area on the floor.

"It's a she, actually. Just found out."

"Ah. Then direct her over there."

"Very good, Uncle." Mortimer turned to the Dragon. _"Would you mind awfully?"_

"_Not at all," _said the Dragon, walking over to the aforementioned clearing. Vexen came over with a tape measure and a clipboard and began to take measurements. Every so often, he would turn to Mortimer and ask him to ask her to move in some way, sticking out her tail as far as she could, extending her wings, stretching her neck and so on. They continued in this way for a good ten minutes or so, occasionally exchanging polite conversation. Mortimer enjoyed spending time with his Uncle, but understood that he wasn't the sort who had time for such frivolities as social interaction. It wasn't long before they were finished. "Well, that all seems to be in order. Her growth appears to be progressing smoothly. She should be just large enough to ride by the time you arrive on Earth."

After checking his notes a few times for accuracy and consistency, Vexen made his way over to a large machine on the wall, beckoning the pair to follow him. "This is my latest creation. It analyses any genetic sample fed into it, identifies every single gene contained therein and displays their function in the form of a picture of the donor in a variety of appropriate and occasionally whimsical outfits or activities."

Here, he noticed their respective looks of mild astonishment and confusion. "Look, I was _extremely _drunk. _Extremely._ You think my inebriated brain cares for taste? Anyway, I fed the sample of blood I took at your last check-up into it, and I thought you'd want to know the results."

So saying, he reached over and twisted a knob below the screen, which then flickered into life. A picture of Mortimer, dressed much as he was in a fine white shirt, black waistcoat and trousers with matching boots, appeared on the screen. "This is an overview of the donor," said Vexen, tapping away at a keyboard. "But, if I enter the right commands..." The display changed to show Mortimer on one side, some text on the other and a slider bar along the bottom. Vexen typed in another word or two, evidently activating some sort of search feature, for the picture began to change rapidly, cycling through one gene to the next in quick succession.

"We know that you are a wizard as a result of your genes. This is the gene for Magic." Mortimer appeared, dressed in black robes and a pointed hat with a wide brim. "This is the Paper gene." Mortimer changed into a brown waistcoat with a red tie. "And this is the reason I called you here."

He tapped another key, and the image resized itself, zooming in on the top of Mortimer's head. There, clearly visible, were two small but distinct horns. Vexen cycled back to the Magic gene. There, too, were the horns, sticking out through the brim of his hat. "I've been through your genetic code. Those horns appear in only one other picture, which is the gene for the colour of your eyes. Given the way the images work, I can only assume that all three are connected in some way. There is only one thing of which I am currently certain."

Mortimer looked at him with confusion on his face, thoughts running through his head. At the very edge of his mind, he felt something like a breeze.

"Mortimer, I don't think you're entirely human."


	11. A Lordly Fellow

And then a familiar voice came from somewhere near the door, behind the piles of wiring and bottles, saying "Indeed, you are not. But you are certainly more human than I am."

Merlin soon appeared, making his way through the veritable labyrinth of drunkenly-constructed detritus.

"What are you doing here, Grandcestor?"

Finally reaching them, Merlin laid a hand on Mortimer's shoulder. "Oh, I'm here to take you to a meeting with your family's financial advisor." He turned to the dragon. "I thought I'd take a look at this dragon of yours while I was at it. Fascinating creatures, you know. Why, I remember one I found back when I was fifty..."

The old man's eyes seemed to grow wistful, as though staring at some forgotten wonder in the distance. "But that's not important right now. I had hoped to explain all of this to you when you were a little older, but I suppose it's better to do it now. If you will come with me to the library, I shall explain things as best as I can on the way."

So saying, he gave a respectful nod of recognition to Vexen, turned around and strode out of the door, Mortimer and the dragon following suite immediately after.

The walk was quiet to begin with. It should perhaps be noted that it was not one of those awkward silences, where no one quite knows what's happening or what to say. On the contrary, it was in fact an intentional silence. Though he did not realise it at the time, Mortimer was being taught a lesson. It was a very important lesson. A lesson that would stay with him throughout his life and eventually seep into the very way he thought and felt and operated.

He was being taught how to utilise dramatic effect.

After a few minutes of this, Mortimer spoke. "So, you were going to explain the whimsical horns?"

"Ah, yes." Said Merlin, his amethyst eyes all a-twinkle. This was slightly odd, as Mortimer was certain they had been a light shade of blue just minutes before. "I am an immensely powerful wizard, Mortimer. I am, to my knowledge, the first, last and only one to learn to transform into more than one animal and back again. The last Highly Educated Owl in existence lives in my home. I was the advisor to the greatest King the Worlds have ever seen. To put it simply, there is an excellent reason why the wizards and witches of Earth swear by my name even to this day. They even speak of my beard with reverence and wonder in their voices." At this, he stroked the beard in question with no small degree of fondness. Anyone would have to concede that it was a rather lovely specimen.

"Now, wizards can live for centuries sometimes. But none have lived so long as I have, for I am in fact immortal. The reason for this is that my father was not a human man." Here he paused, doubtless for dramatic purpose. "He was, in fact, a demon."

"A demon?"

"Yes, a demon. The last demon to walk upon the Earth, back in the days when they still did such things. That is why your eyes are that colour, and by extension the reason for the whimsical horns. You are of my bloodline."

Mortimer spent the next few moments processing this information, saying finally "And what is the reason they appeared on the images pertaining to the genes for magic and Paper Mastery?"

Merlin's eyes twinkled once more. "Ah, now that is particularly interesting. Demon blood is an odd thing. It confers a longer than average lifespan upon those with it flowing through their veins, though how much longer differs depending on how much demon is in them. That is why I am immortal and my son was not. However, the blood always guarantees three things, regardless of how weak it has become. Firstly, any child born of it will be a male. Secondly, any 'abilities' for lack of a better term that can be passed down through the blood from parent to child will be. That is to say, because my mother was a witch, I was born a wizard. From my father, I gained the power to see into the future to a certain extent."

He paused once more, looking thoughtful. "For future reference, incidentally, such a wizard is called a Seer. Now, from the moment I was conceived, wizardry was a part of my bloodline. Every single one of my descendants was born a wizard. So, it logically follows that the moment you were conceived, Paper Mastery became part of the bloodline as well. This brings me to the third effect of demonic heritage. Any such abilities are fully awakened upon birth. They will not manifest in times of extreme emotion or distress nor require some external event or trauma to empower them. In other words, you are born with full control of your powers, which is why you never notice them until you consciously use them for the first time."

Mortimer grinned to himself, saying to the dragon "Well, that explains that incident the night I arrived here."

"_Indeed."_

His explanation apparently finished, they continued their walk in comfortable silence. Presently, they arrived at the double doors of the Library of Forgotten Tales. Upon entering, Merlin made his way through the stacks to the Fiction section (Fantasy, Shelves R-T).

When they caught up to him, Mortimer experienced the strange sensation of somebody trying to suppress a mental giggle. This was, admittedly, somewhat justified as a rather respectable looking goblin was sitting on Mortimer's bed. More precisely, he was sitting on one of his pillows which was in turn sitting upon the bed. A large oaken desk had been placed in front of him, no doubt to lend an official air to the proceedings, and in front of that there were two chairs. Merlin sat down in one and Mortimer took the other.

"Mortimer, this is Mr. Frithkin, your family's financial advisor with Gringott's Wizarding Bank. Mr. Frithkin, this is Mortimer Certadan II, as I believe you're here to confirm."

The goblin smiled a toothy smile and shook Mortimer by the hand. "That is correct, Mr. Sylvestris. We have finished verifying the blood sample we took when the two of you visited us on July 16th. Our results confirm that young Mr. Certadan here is undoubtedly Mortimer Zenodotus Certadan II, last surviving member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Certadan."

He opened a briefcase that had until that point been resting on the bed behind him and retrieved a sheaf of papers and a small box. "Taking this into account, I have brought with me the necessary paperwork for you to take your rightful place as Lord of said Noble and Most Ancient House. Signing them will confer upon you full rights as an adult, controlling interest and ownership in your family's company and any properties they had in their possession at the time of your father's death." So saying, he inked a quill, passed it to Mortimer and told him where to sign. After he had done so, Mortimer felt the Grimoire vibrating as it sat on his lap. Upon opening it to investigate, he saw that a black circle had been removed from the middle of the silver bat on his crest. Within this circle was the outline of a silver pentacle, identical to the one of the cover of the book.

"Congratulations, my Lord. You are now officially Mortimer Zenodotus Certadan II, fifty-third Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Certadan. This box contains your ring, if you'd care to put it on." Frithkin handed the aforementioned box to the newly-minted Lord, who took it and opened it. Inside there was a silver ring set with a polished circular black stone, through which could be seen the silver pentacle so often appearing in Mortimer's life of late. Though it looked to be too large for him, he placed it on the ring finger of his left hand and was astonished when the band contracted to make for a perfect fit.

"Thank you, Mr. Frithkin."

"I am simply carrying out the wishes of your late father as best I can, my Lord. You should expect a visit from a Mr. Lakekin on October 31st. If Mr. Sylvestris would be so kind as to take me home, I have a rather important appointment this afternoon. Good day, my Lord."


	12. Sailing for Education

And so it was that Mortimer II, Lord Certadan and the as-yet nameless dragon spent the next week making preparations for their voyage. Their ship was finished, the crew was chosen and all was well.

On Monday 24th August, 1992, he laid eyes upon the vessel of which he would soon be Captain for the first time.

"Lord Mortimer Zenodotus Certadan II, hereafter known to all and sundry as the dread Captain Shade, I give you the SSA Silverwing."

It was a glorious thing, and well named, for while the main body was made of black wood, the sails, railings, rigging and accents were shining silver. From atop the aft mast there flew a black flag, adorned with Mortimer's crest. Just beneath the bowsprit was the Silverwing figurehead, a large silver bat with its wings wrapped about itself.

Upon seeing his sons delight with his vessel, Zexion commenced his explanation.  
>"The first of a new line of ships for the Superior's Silver Armada, the SSA Silverwing is designed with comfort and safety in mind. Every inch of her has been treated with the finest enchantments against the corrupting power of Darkness we could devise. Housed at different points within the figurehead, we have lighting, sonar navigation, an SEP Field generator and part of the mechanism that gets her off the ground.<br>"As Captain, you have your own stateroom in the aft, equipped with three well-stocked bookshelves, an exceedingly comfortable chair, a desk and various pieces of nautical paraphernalia. Beneath the main deck, we have fifteen reasonably comfortable rooms, each suited to its owner bar the fifteenth, this last being for any guest you should wish to bring home for the holidays.  
>"Beneath that is storage for food, auxiliary books should you run out and the equipment necessary to create new ammunition for the forty cannons dispersed at strategic locations throughout the ship. There is also a small armoury.<br>"Finally, we have the pride of the Silverwing. With a bit of help from your Uncle Xigbar, we've managed to create a comfortable chamber within the hold, capable of expanding its inner dimensions to ensure the comfort and safety of the occupant whilst allowing the exterior dimensions of the ship to retain their current shape and appearance. We call it the Dragonhold. After the rest of us have boarded the vessel, we'll use a more advanced version of the technology they use for planetary excursions on Gummi Ships to transport your dragon into the hold, where she will be fed daily. Once she's in, we can't let her out until we reach Earth." Upon finishing this almost-certainly rehearsed speech, he breathed deeply.

So, Mortimer gave the dragon an adorably awkward hug and she returned the gesture as best as she could, then they walked up the gangplank. Mr. Silver was there to meet them as they boarded, handing Mortimer a black leather tricorn with silver stitching (this to symbolise his leadership) which he promptly placed upon his head, after which he was shown to the helm.

Now, this particular helm was a particularly interesting feature of this particular ship. It was made of the same black wood as the rest of the ship, and in terms of practical design was somewhat simple. However, set into the centre of the wheel was a circular disk, roughly six inches in diameter and an inch thick. Like every nail and screw worked into the ships design, it was made of a Mythril-Rune Tech alloy, designed to last whilst providing large amounts of magical power. Set into this plate was a hexagonal faceted crystal, synthesised from Gust and Energy Materia liberally sprinkled with fairy dust during the process. Inscribed along the edges of the plate were the words

_'Sunt noctibus, cum venti Aetherium, invitans eorum pollicitationem libertatem fugae fecerunt uno spiritus adsurgere'._

Before long, everyone was safely aboard. The dragon had been stowed in the hold, the crew were all at their respective stations and Mortimer stood at the helm, wondering why they weren't in the air yet. He turned to his Uncle Vexen, who stood behind him, and asked him.

"Why aren't we in the air yet?"

The blonde had the good grace to look somewhat sheepish. "Well, it's very difficult to design all the technology that's gone into this. I had to get more drunk than usual."

"How drunk, exactly?"

"Well, if my notes are to be believed, and they probably are, in order to get this ship into the air and on our way, we have to..."

"We have to what, Uncle?"

"We...We have to stage a musical number."

None would ever forget Mortimer's expression upon hearing those words.

* * *

><p>"In the interest of providing the greatest possible experience for you, I will now call upon Ms. Nightray to weave her illusions and put on a show for us. Ms. Nightray?"<br>The man on the stage turns to face the young woman, who nods and retreats backstage. A few moments later, the curtains part and the SSA Silverwing is revealed in all its glory, recreated down to the tiniest detail, as are those upon it.

* * *

><p>Mortimer turned to his first mate. "Mr. Silver, this voyage has begun."<p>

Whereupon the inversely coloured Privateer turned to look down on the deck below and bellowed "This voyage has begun!" At his words, Nobodies left and right scrambled into position. "Raise the gangplank!" This was done. "Let go forward line!" This too was done. "Let go aft line!" For a third time, his orders were obeyed. Already, the ship was rising off the ground. "Hard to starboard! Any Nobody caught dawdling will be shot on sight!"

Mortimer nodded in approval. "Very good, Mr. Silver. Set the sails."

"Set the sails!"

The sails were unfurled at his words. Though none immediately noticed it, the Silverwing unfurled its silver wings. A quartet of Privateers began to scrub the deck, singing as they did so.

_When the course is laid and the anchors weighed,_

_A sailor's blood begins racing. _

_With our Hearts consumed and our flag unfurled,_

_We're under way and off to see the Worlds!_

_Under way and off to see the Worlds!_

The ship began to move forwards, sails blowing in mystical winds. It was decided by unspoken consent that everyone would join in the chorus. It was simply what one does.

_Hey ho, we'll go anywhere the wind is blowing!_

Lexeaus sprang onto centre stage, displaying surprising agility for a man his size, proclaiming in a proud tenor voice:

_Manly men are we!_

Only to be struck down, kneed in the groin by Larxene, who walked away cackling. The rest, crew and non-existent overlords alike picked up the chorus.

_Sailing for adventure on this star-filled sea!_

Mortimer had begun climbing the rigging with Mr. Silver, making for the crow's nest. "Safely now, Mr. Silver. Let's not get sloppy, just because we're singing!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

_Danger walks the deck; we say what the heck!_

_We laugh at the perils we're facing._

Xaldin stood in the crow's nest proper, arms folded and that look of stoic badassery for which he is so well known on his face. "Each storm we ride is its own reward."

"And people die by falling overboard." said Xigbar, taking careful aim with his Arrowguns.

_And people die by falling overboard!_

_Hey ho, we'll go anywhere the wind is blowing!_

_Hoist the sails and sing!_

"Sailing for adventure 'midst the spray and wind." Saix was clearly not enjoying himself.

Elsewhere on deck, three Privateers sat seeing to their weapons, Misters Crowley, Murderface and Necrophilliac respectively.

"I love to see 'em cry when they walk the plank." said Mr. Crowley, practicing his aim by shooting special pre-emptied cans off the rail.

Mr. Murderface fingered his cutlass. "I prefer to cut a throat."

"I love to hang 'em high and watch their little feet try to walk in the air while their faces turn blue." added Mr. Necrophilliac, an expression of joyous, almost sexual ecstasy on his face, which was quite a feat, given that he didn't have one. "No, really."

_It's a good life on a boat!_

The ship was gaining speed, making its way towards the edge of the Dark City.

_There are distant lands, with burning sands_

_That call across the oceans._

"There are poker games every fun-filled day." said Luxord, shuffling no less than thirteen decks simultaneously.

"And margaritas at the midnight buffet." said Vexen, clearly mildly sloshed already.

_Margaritas at the midnight buffet!_

_Hey ho, we'll go anywhere the wind is blowing!_

Axel and Roxas, sitting on the rail overlooking the deck, pondered aloud "What if we miss the train?"

_Sailing for adventure on the bounding main!_

Mortimer stood halfway up the rigging, hanging on with one hand and adjusting his glasses with the other, singing as he did so.

_The stellar breezes whisper; who knows what lies ahead?_

_I just hope that I don't run out of things to read before we're there._

On the opposite side of the mast, hanging on by the rigging, Mr. Silver joined in.

_The stars will be our compass, wherever we may roam._

_And our mates will always be just like a family!_

_And though we may put into port, the sea is always home._

The Privateers have ceased to clean and begun to dance.

_We'll chase our dreams standing on our own,_

_Over the horizon to the great unknown!_

_Hey ho, we'll go anywhere the wind is blowing!_

_Bold and brave and free!_

_Sailing for adventure!_

Vexen rushed to the side of the ship, face a sickly green, and threw up. "It's so nauseating!"

Marluxia waved his hand, causing flower petals to fall upon the deck, only to be swept up by the wind.

_Sailing for adventure!_

"So exhilarating!" exclaimed Demyx, hands a blur atop the strings of his Sitar.

_Sailing for adventure!_

Sang Zexion, half-laughing at Larxene's attack on Lexaeus.

Xemnas stood at the prow, moving his arms as though he were conducting the proceedings. "I'm gesticulating."

The Silverwing's mouth opened, the eyes glowed and a beam of light shot forth. Within moments, a hole had been torn in the fabric of the World, opening a portal to the Ocean Between. And as the ship sailed through that portal, embarking on their week-long voyage:

_On this star-filled sea!_

And though none but Mortimer heard it, a sleepy voice concurred _"Sailing for adventure on this star-filled sea."_

* * *

><p>With that, the curtains close, the music stops and the room bursts into thunderous applause.<p> 


	13. The Captain's Log

"In the interest of brevity, we shall relate to you the events of the voyage as laid out in the Captain's Log." The young man on the stage gestures with his free hand, catching the conjured book before it falls and opens it.

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>SSA Silverwing – Captain's Log<strong>_

_**Monday 24**__**th**__** August, 1992 – Day 1 of Voyage to Earth**_

_Here begins the log of Mortimer II, Lord Certadan. Within this book shall be recorded the journey from the Dark City on the World That Never Was across the Ocean Between to our eventual destination (a place called King's Cross Station on Earth) as it unfolds. It is quite likely that these entries will be short in content, as no doubt much of my time will be taken up with my duties as Captain of this fine vessel. I should like to take this opportunity to state for the record how honoured I feel to have been given command of the ship by my father, despite my youth and inexperience in such endeavours. Perhaps he simply has faith in me? We shall see._

_**SSA Silverwing – Captain's Log**_

_**Tuesday 25**__**th**__** August, 1992 – Day 2 of Voyage to Earth**_

_I have discovered precisely why they decided to name an eleven year old boy Captain of a brand new (and still somewhat experimental) ship. For the most part, the crew ensures the ship sails as it should, adjusting the course where necessary and so on. For his part, Mr. Silver ensures the crew works as they should, make sure they know what they're doing, administering punishment where necessary and so on. For my part, my duties consist mainly of writing up this self-same log, seeing to the needs of the Dragon and occasionally standing up on deck, attempting to sound authoritive, gesturing now and then and doing my utmost to look impressive with my hat on. I've decided to start reading a novel._

_**SSA Silverwing – Captain's Log**_

_**Wednesday 26**__**th**__** August, 1992 – Day 3 of Voyage to Earth**_

_Though it did not occur to me earlier, I find myself remarkably glad that I am remarkably wealthy. Having seen the amounts that Dragon can put away, I doubt I could otherwise afford to keep her, particularly given the scarcity of opportunities she'll get to hunt over the next year or so. We allowed her to practice her flying for a few days before we left the Dark City. It's a surprisingly beautiful sight, though she still seems just a tad nervous in the air. Given that we'll be flying from the station to this village in Scotland, I can only hope she gets over that by next Tuesday. On an unrelated note, I have finished my novel and I could have sworn I saw my old munny box in the distance off the port bow this morning. _

_**SSA Silverwing – Captain's Log**_

_**Thursday 27**__**th**__** August, 1992 – Day 4 of Voyage to Earth**_

_Our voyage progresses smoothly. I spent a little time trying on my robes this morning, after which I realised that despite his insistence upon it, my Great-Grandcestor has yet to give me the custom hat I need. Perhaps I can pick one up in the village on my way up to the school. We're still trying to figure out how the Dragon is going to carry both my trunk and myself for the entire flight, though we regularly hold conversations about it._

_**SSA Silverwing – Captain's Log**_

_**Friday 28**__**th**__** August, 1992 – Day 5 of Voyage to Earth**_

_I found Uncle Axel amusing himself this morning by hurling his Chakrams out over the side of the ship while Roxas attempted to hit them with a blast of magic from his Keyblade before they returned to their owner. They seemed to find it both enjoyable and useful as a training exercise. I'd ask to join them, but I'd rather not attempt any magic without the appropriate training. That said, I was able to convince Uncle Xemnas to give me a brief lesson on keeping totally straight-faced. I suppose he must be somewhat bored, if indeed he can be bored._

_**SSA Silverwing – Captain's Log**_

_**Saturday 29**__**th**__** August, 1992 – Day 6 of Voyage to Earth**_

_Contrary to his usual work ethic, Uncle Vexen seems to be treating the voyage as though it were a small holiday. Whilst I was warm and comfortable in my bed last night, I heard the sounds of drunken carousal coming from up on deck. Upon sticking my head out of my stateroom door, I beheld the astounding sight of my Uncle Xigbar playing his trumpet, accompanied by Uncle Lexaeus on a set of bongo drums, all while Uncle Vexen danced a jig and Uncle Saix smiled (as much as he can smile) and laughed. This begs many questions, among them "Was it all because of that cheese I had with my bread during supper?", "Where did Uncle Vexen learn to dance like that?" and "Will I ever be able to forget the horrific sight that is my Uncle Saix with his teeth bared in a half-hearted grimace?" The latter I can't answer and I suppose I could just ask Uncle Vexen about the dancing. But if it was the cheese, how will it not be unbelievably awkward?_

_**SSA Silverwing – Captain's Log**_

_**Sunday 30**__**th**__** August, 1992 – Day 7 of Voyage to Earth**_

_Today, I returned to my stateroom after spending some time with the Dragon to discover a small brown owl perched on the back of my chair, who introduced himself as Archimedes, the last Highly Educated Owl currently in existence and long-time companion of my Great-Grandcestor Merlin. After a moment, I recognised him as the owl who had delivered my invitation to tea with the man. After making myself a cup of tea and offering one to my guest, the bird and I exchanged polite conversation for a minute or so, at which point he informed me that he came bearing a letter and that he was to remain in our company until our arrival on Earth. I sent a Privateer below deck for a little bacon for Archimedes, and then perused the letter. Aside from containing the necessary co-ordinates our Planetary Excursion Facilitator would require in order to beam us all down to the correct location, it also specifically told me rather handily precisely where Earth was and that Great-Grandcestor would meet us on the platform with some last minute essentials. The co-ordinates were sent up to the helmsman, Archimedes enjoyed his bacon and I my tea._

_**SSA Silverwing – Captain's Log**_

_**Monday 31**__**st **__**August, 1992 – Day 8 of Voyage to Earth**_

_We finally saw Earth during the early hours of this evening. Since the train leaves at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning, I spent some time making sure I had everything I needed packed away in my trunk. Archimedes seemed rather happy to be going to Earth, though he tried his best to hide his enthusiasm. Apparently, he hasn't been for quite some time. I hope it's nice. It'll be kind of strange having days with sunlight on a regular basis. The time is now eight o'clock at night, and I am going to bed. _

_**Addendum**_

_Just as I was about to drop off, I was roused by the Dragon. She has apparently, after long and strenuous thought on the matter, chosen a name. From this day forth, she wishes to be known as Atramenta. I'm not entirely certain why, but it seems to fit her very well indeed._

* * *

><p>"Here ends the recital." The man bangs his staff upon the stage once, and the book vanishes as though it had never been there.<p> 


	14. Of Gifts and the Girl

_Tuesday 1__st__ September, 1992 (10:30AM)_

_Platform 9 & 3/4, King's Cross Station_

"Mortimer, my dear boy!"

"Great-Grandcestor!"

The two embraced, Archimedes taking the opportunity to cross to Merlin's shoulder in the process.

Oddly, none of the wizards and witches making their way from what appeared to be a solid wall to the Hogwarts Express (revealed to be such by the metal plate affixed to the front of the scarlet engine) seemed to notice the usually unusual sight of fourteen black clad figures, a girl in white and a young Dragon, though it is of course possible that some noticed but preferred not to make a fuss of it.

Given that this was to be Atramenta's first major flight, they had purposely arrived half an hour before the train was due to leave, so as to make last-minute checks and the like before take-off.

"Merlin.", said Zexion, nodding his head towards the aged wizard. "I take it you remembered those items you mentioned?"

Merlin looked down at the carpet bag at his feet. "I did indeed, lad. I did indeed." So saying, he beckoned Mortimer over to him. "Come here, my boy. I've got a few things for you. I had to create entirely new spells for some of these."

He opened the bag and took out first a plain black pointed hat with a wide brim, as well as a ring of some strange metal. "Now, this, I'm very proud of. Give me your hand."

Mortimer did and was momentarily taken aback when Merlin pricked his finger with a needle. Atramenta growled softly at the old man, who said by way of explanation "Regrettable but necessary." He turned the hand over and allowed a few drops to fall upon the ring, which began to glow with a soft light. He turned the hat over so that the space where the head would go was visible, as was the fact that the brim had not yet been fully joined to the cone. He set the ring atop this space (allowing those present to see that they matched each other in circumference), where the cloth moved to cover it. In seconds, the hat was whole, with nary a stitch to be seen.

"There," said Merlin. "Here is your hat. I had to collaborate with a friend of mine, something of an expert on magical headgear. I call it the Wizard's Hat. Stick your hand inside, as far as it will go."

Mortimer did so, and was astonished to behold his arm sunk in to the shoulder. Merlin smiled and pointed his wand at Mortimer's trunk, which promptly rose into the air. Guiding into position over the mouth of the cone, he gently lowered it into the Hat, the trunk shrinking as he did so.

"The magics I wove into this Hat left me exhausted for a week afterwards. What you have there is a new variety of the Undetectable Extension Charm, combined with Featherlight and Cushioning Charms and a Blood-Sensing Spell. To demonstrate..."

He stuck his hand into the Hat and withdrew it without any visible difficulty. At his invitation, Zexion attempted it, only to find his hand held back by some invisible force.

"The Hat recognises only blood of my blood," said Merlin, taking the Hat back. "It will grow as you do, Mortimer, and will keep itself clean. Now that it has been made whole, the Hat can never be destroyed, and as an added bonus confers that same protection upon your head while you wear it. It also can't be removed unless you yourself reach up and take it off, so as to ensure you don't lose it mid-flight. There are one or two other features, but I'll send you a letter soon explaining those."

He placed the Hat upon the ground, retrieving next from his bag a saddle of black leather, about the right size for the dragon. The stitching was in silver thread and embossed upon it were images of bats in flight.

"This is the Saddle of the Bat. Not the best of names, I know, but I was still recovering from making the Hat when I came up with it. If this Dragon..."

"Atramenta," Mortimer supplied helpfully.

"Thank you, if Atramenta could just come over here a moment, I'll show you how to put it on."

Atramenta complied and made her way over to them. "Now, same deal with the Hat. The Saddle itself is totally indestructible, but the protection only extends to her wings, since they are most vulnerable." He placed the saddle upon her back, and began to show Mortimer the correct way to secure it. "This will ensure that even if you are spotted, people will either assume it's somebody else's problem or believe that you're simply a bat."

"How does it feel, Atramenta?" asked Mortimer.

"_A little strange, but not uncomfortable. I kind of like it."_

"Good, good."

Merlin retrieved two things more from his bag, a strip of black leather and what appeared to be a thermos flask made of silver metal. "These are to make up for the birthdays I've missed. Let your hair down, Mortimer, and take this."

Mortimer did so, only to be momentarily blinded by hair. After brushing it out of his eyes, he asked "Now what?"

"Place your hand upon the Grimoire, hold the strip up next to your head and say 'Mannulus'."

This was done, Mortimer's hair pulled itself back seemingly of its own accord and the strip wrapped and tied itself around the resultant bunch, leaving a perfect ponytail.

"Not one hair will escape from that so long as you use that strip. It's been made Unbreakable. Touch it and say 'Dimitte' when you want to let it down again."

He next presented the flask, making sure to show the dials on the side. "This flask will provide you with a never-ending source of tea. These dials control milk and sugar content respectively. Like the rest of these things, it cannot be destroyed. Use it well."

Mortimer took the flask with an expression of awe upon his face.

"Lastly, if you'll hand me your glasses and get your cloak out of the trunk, I'll make sure you won't be bothered by rain and you won't catch your death of cold up there."

Before long, everyone was aboard the train. Mortimer had donned his hat and cloak and was just making his goodbyes as the whistle went and the train began to leave the station. He was just about to climb into the Saddle and strap himself in when it happened.

"Oh, bother, Daddy. I told you we were going to miss it."

He heard a voice behind him. A strange and beautiful voice.

"Now, now..."

He turned in the Saddle to look.

"It doesn't matter. What are we going to do now?"

The strange and beautiful voice belonged to a strange and beautiful girl. Her eyes were grey, like the sky above him. Her hair was blonde, golden as the sun. And she needed help.

He was out of the Saddle and at her side in moments.

"Uh, excuse me, Miss? I'm Mortimer II, Lord Certadan. You appear to be in a spot of bother. Might I be so bold as to offer you a lift?"

For the first time, it seemed, someone took notice of the fact that he had a Dragon behind him. "Assuming it's alright with you, Atramenta."

"_I don't mind, but we really do need to leave now, or we'll lose the train."_

Mortimer turned to look back at the girl, barely concealing a sheepish grin. She in turn looked at him and smiled. His heart leapt (metaphorically speaking).

She gave him her hand, allowing herself to be led over to Atramenta, ascending a flight of paper steps Mortimer had made. He strapped her in, gave her his cloak and placed her belongings in his Hat, then climbed into the Saddle behind her, using makeshift paper restraints for his own legs.

"Ready, Atramenta?"

"_Ready, Mortimer."_

"Then let's do this."

And the Dragon leapt into the air and rode the wind.


	15. Of Dragonflight and Destiny

"I have heard it said that dragonback is an exquisite way to travel," says the young man, looking wistful. "Regrettably, it is not something I have ever done. Something I doubt any of you fine ladies and gentlemen have ever done. However, despite my lack of personal experience in such matters, I shall nonetheless attempt to describe it for you."

* * *

><p>Flying by broom only allows for half the experience. A broom is, after all, controlled almost exclusively by whoever rides it. It has no instinct for the art, capable of only so much as the rider has the skill for. This is where it differs.<p>

A Dragon is a thinking, living being (despite being classed as a Beast by the Ministry of Magic). Their ancestors took to the wing long before Wizardkind even considered endowing something with the power of flight. They are comparative masters of it, regardless of where they come from or how old they might be. Even the young, newly able to fly have some degree of innate skill. So, bearing all of that in mind, think of it.

The sky was grey, though the sun was out. It was a little cold, but it usually was in that part of the World. The wind blew, tossing the hair of the children out behind them, moving it this way and that, and all the while, the girl laughed her strange and beautiful laugh and Mortimer half-smiled awkwardly. Not wishing to appear rude, he fumbled for a topic. "So, Miss..Uh...?"  
>She turned her head as much as she could and smiled sweetly at him. "Lovegood, Lord Certadan." His stomach squirmed with every syllable, and he didn't know why. "Miss Lovego..."<p>

"Luna. Anyone who lets me ride their Dragon gets to call me Luna." Mortimer hesitated, and then nodded. "Very well, Luna. But you must call me Mortimer. And this fine young Dragon is Atramenta."

The Dragon in question made a noise as a gesture of acknowledgement and looked briefly behind her. _"Mortimer, we appear to have something a little way behind us."_

Mortimer frowned. "Who could be following us up here?"

"_I am unsure if they are following us at all. After all, didn't the old man say we would go unnoticed?"_

"Great-Grandcestor did say that, yes. Perhaps they're actually following the train, like us."At this point, he noticed Luna looking at him with a mildly bewildered expression on her face. "Who are you talking to, Mortimer?"

Mortimer, thinking honesty the best policy in this case, told her about the telepathic link between Atramenta and himself. It perhaps said something about the nature of her personality that Luna did not seem overly surprised at this revelation, apparently taking it as simple truth. "So, what was that thing you did back at the station, when you made those extra leg straps?"

"Oh, that's something my mother could do. Paper Mastery, they call it. It allows me to totally control and manipulate paper. I can make it strong or as sharp as a diamond, control its shape, move it with my mind, and make constructs and so on. I don't fully understand it all myself yet, but I imagine I'll get better at it as time goes on."

"Oh. What's paper?"

The day progressed somewhat smoothly after this, Luna asking the occasional question with Mortimer providing answers as best as he could while making sure not to tell her the explicit truth about his adoptive family, Merlin or the existence of other Worlds. He in turn asked her questions, and so on things went.

Now and again, they caught a glimpse of whatever it was that had been following them, though they had lost sight of it by the time they arrived at Hogsmeade Station. Luna helped Mortimer find an empty spot to land on and they dismounted. He was just retrieving her things from his Hat and putting up a paper screen so she could change into her school robes when he noticed the approach of a man a little taller than his Uncle Lexaeus. He had eyes like black beetles, shaggy black hair and a beard to match. He wore a big brown coat, and carried a lit lantern in his hand. He wouldn't stop staring at Atramenta.

"Excuse me," said Mortimer politely. "Can I help you with something?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry, I didn't see yer there. M'name's Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' Keys an' Grounds at Hogwarts. Is that yer Dragon?"

"I'm Mortimer II, Lord Certadan, a pleasure to meet you, Mr Hagrid. She's her Dragon. We're more like good friends at the moment."

If Hagrid was a tad confused by this answer, he didn't seem all that bothered by it. "Right, right. I had bin told yer were comin'. If you an' yer young friend there'll follow me, I'll take yer down to the boats."

Then he helped Mortimer load his and Luna's trunks onto a trolley, where it would be taken up to the school for them. Mortimer turned to Atramenta. "Meet us there, okay?"

The children followed the large man from the station and out of the village, down towards the shores of a great black lake where the other new students were waiting. There, they were put into boats, two or three each (They shared with a little redheaded girl) and began the voyage.

The journey over the lake was a quiet one, for the most part. This was likely due to the awe-inspiring sight of the great castle, looming out of the darkness ahead of them for one glorious moment. By the lantern-light, faces looked up in silence at the place that was to be their home. This was where history was told and legends made. This was Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and it was wonderful.

In time, however, they reached the island. Atramenta padded over to meet him as Mortimer left his boat. More than one student stepped back at her approach, understandably wondering why one among their number was even now swinging into the saddle on the Dragon's back.

Hagrid led them all to a door in the rock. This he knocked on, exchanging words with someone on the other side when it opened and then beckoned everyone to follow him in.

They eventually ended up in what appeared to be the entrance hall, where they were greeted by a woman in green with something of an air of stern authority about her. Professor McGonagall (as the seemingly no-nonsense Witch was named) explained to them the concept of the four Houses, each named for a Founder.

"In a moment, I shall call each of you into the Great Hall by name," she said. "Once you enter, you will be Sorted into your Houses, after which you may join your fellow Housemates at their table for the Start-of-Term feast, apart from you, Lord Certadan." All eyes turned to where she looked, straight at Mortimer. "You are to rejoin Hagrid here. Owing to your unique circumstances, we have arranged special accommodation for you. He will lead you to it and help you get settled in."

"Yes, Professor," said Mortimer, nodding.

"You will be able to take your evening meal once you arrive. Now, all of you wait here until I call your name."

And so the Sorting Ceremony began. Student after student went into the Hall. There would be a pause and then Mortimer would hear a voice announce their new House. Before long, there came a call of "Mortimer II, Lord Certadan" and it was time.

"Are you ready for this, Atramenta? First impressions are often most important."

"_Then let's give them a show."_

She padded her way towards the great double doors of the Great Hall, Mortimer sitting up straight in the saddle. There could be no going back now, for either of them.

They had a journey to begin.

A destiny to forge.

An entrance to make.


	16. Drumroll, please!

The Great Hall had been lively before Mortimer's name was called.

It had been filled with light conversation, polite laughter and the occasional shout.

Then all was quiet, save for the sound of ivory claws on stone.

Atramenta walked into the hall at a leisurely pace, her wings fully extended, more than covering the tables on either side of her and casting the heads below into shadow. No words were spoken, for what words could be spoken in the face of such a rare sight as this? When they were about a quarter of the way to the small stool near the other end of the hall, two savvy Fifth-Years (from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables) each conjured up a small drum and set them to playing, the tune almost military in nature.

Mortimer smiled to himself and resolved to get their names after he had been Sorted and pay them for their troubles.

Before long, they reached the High Table. Atramenta closed her wings and Mortimer dismounted, surveying those seated before him. The old man in the middle (who he presumed to be the famous Headmaster Dumbledore) stood, smiled and began to address the room.

"Students, I would like to introduce you to Mortimer II, Lord Certadan of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Certadan (who waved) and the Dragon..." He turned to Mortimer. "I'm terribly sorry. What is her name?"

"Atramenta, Headmaster."

"Thank you." He turned back to the students. "The Dragon Atramenta (who bared her teeth in a smile). Lord Certadan is here to be educated and owing to some unique circumstances of which I am yet entirely informed of, Atramenta must remain close to him. I am, however, assured by Lord Certadan's guardian that she poses no threat to any of us. I understand that your parents may take issue with this arrangement. Therefore, in order to appease them, I have arranged that a representative from the Ministry pay us a visit within the next week in order to ascertain the truth of that. Until then, I ask that you treat both Lord Certadan and Atramenta like any other student. Now, let us proceed with the Sorting." He sat back down and gestured at Mortimer, eyes a-twinkle. "Lord Certadan, would you be so kind as to remove your hat?"

Mortimer, of course, obliged him and as directed by Professor McGonagall, sat down upon the stool. An old black hat, not so different from his own, was placed atop his head. And then, it happened.

"_Ah! Another Certadan, eh? _Ravenclaw!"

It had taken less than ten seconds.

Before putting his Hat back on, he retrieved two golden Galleons from the pouch inside. Then, Mortimer climbed back into the saddle and left the Great Hall, flipping a coin down to the drummers as he passed them.

Hagrid was waiting for him. "Right, if yer follow me, I'll show yer to yer new home." So saying, the large fellow picked up a large lantern and headed for the large double doors, whereupon he pulled on a large iron ring. The door opened and out they went.

"_Where do you think we'll be staying, Mortimer?"_

Once upon a time, there was an island in the middle of a lake. This island was home to a particularly old and large Dragon, and this Dragon lived in a great cave set a way into the rock. This cave, while by no means as large as the island itself, was still of a respectable size, and possessed two entrances. The first opened out onto the island itself, and the other was a little way above the lake. This allowed the Dragon to swim when he wished and to hunt when he was hungry with relative ease. He had a good life, and enjoyed it.

One day, the Dragon was somehow injured, and unable to return to his home. However, he was far from helpless and used tooth and flame to kill what little strayed near him. It was by these means that he sustained himself, and it served to keep him alive for a time.

And then Winter came.

It was only by the strength of his own flame that he survived, but all that he had once hunted now slept. He would have died, were it not for the timely intervention of a group of four humans. They were, as I'm sure you have guessed, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They were able to heal his wounds, and found him some food. Three of the group went back to the mainland to fetch help, whilst one stayed with the creature. That one was Ravenclaw, for with her keen eyes she saw the Dragon for what he was, and not how others saw him. In the time it took for the others to return with men, the pair had become firm friends. They took him to his lair, and let him sleep. Rowena elected to stay with him, in order to ensure his continuing health throughout the Winter. She passed the time by reading, or by singing, and it is said that her lullabies soothed to sleep the creature when the pain from his wounds became unbearable and naught else could. She spent her waking hours conversing with the Dragon, and while he could not answer her, she knew he understood. When the Winter passed, it was Salazar that came for her. Upon entering the cave, he saw that they were asleep, and made as though to wake them. As he passed the Dragon however, an idea came to him. A stupid and foolhardy idea. Conjuring a feather, he held it to the Dragon's nose and tickled him, ever so slightly.

It was by this act that Salazar lost his hair.

The Dragon passed comfortably in his sleep a few months later, for he was old, and he was tired. Ravenclaw was understandably upset, but refused to allow it to get in the way of her original goal. A great castle was erected upon the island, set up as a school. It was in the Dragon's honour, and at Salazar's suggestion that the motto of the place be 'Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titilandus', or in the common tongue 'Never tickle a sleeping Dragon'.

The Dragon's cave had remained empty since that day, silent and cold and forgotten.

Until now.


	17. A Gentleman's Gentle-Elf

Mortimer had been tired when Hagrid had opened the door set into the rock and led them inside. They walked through an oddly well-lit tunnel, which opened out into a fairly sizeable, roughly square, equally well-lit chamber. By mutual agreement, they determined that this was where Atramenta would sleep, given that it had ample room for her to grow and move around in. In addition to the one they came in by, five tunnels led out of the chamber. Three were located in one wall, one in the centre and the other two at either end. The centre, so he was told, led to his (presumably well-lit) room while the others were meant to be used as spare accommodation should he need it. A short tunnel in the wall directly across from the one they came in by led to the bathroom, while the one opposite the bedrooms led to a door, which opened out over the Black Lake.

For the most part, the cave was sparse, containing only the most basic amenities, though Hagrid assured Mortimer that he need only check with the Headmaster if he wished to make any changes. The temperature was regulated by the latest in Heating and Cooling Charms. There was a round table in the middle of the central chamber, similar, he was told, to the ones used in the Great Hall. If Mortimer sat down at this table during the appropriate meal times, he could make his order and the kitchens would send it over.

"Now," Hagrid had said, showing him how to use it. "I'd best be letting yer get some food in yer. Then off to bed with yer. Classes start nine o'clock sharp tomorrow. Someone'll be over before that to give yer your schedule. You know where me hut is if yer need anything." He had, of course, pointed it out on the journey to the cave.

With that, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwart's, left the cave.

Mortimer had a little to eat. Cheese and bread mostly, with tea to wash it down with, of course. He helped Atramenta get comfortable on the floor and took the time to remove his trunk from the confines of his Hat, resolving to unpack tomorrow. He undressed, let his hair down, removed his glasses and placed them with the Hat and the Grimoire upon the table, padded into his bedroom and got into the four poster bed.

"_Goodnight, Mortimer."_

"Goodnight," he called. And then he was asleep.

* * *

><p>"If any of you have ever woken up to something you did not expect, you will have practically no understanding as to why Mortimer reacted the way he did. After all, he was used to strange sights."<p>

* * *

><p>When Mortimer opened his eyes, it was to see the blurry outline of a face, looking down at him and the blurry outline of a hand handing him his glasses.<p>

"Ah, thank you," he said, sliding them on. The blurry outline of a face became a face.

"Good morning, my Lord!" said the face. "It is an honour to finally meet you." The voice was young, but not youthful, if that made any kind of sense.

Mortimer sat up and took a good look at his helpful visitor. He looked to be about his age and about his height, maybe a little taller. His eyes appeared slightly larger than was average and were a striking shade of silver. His hair matched and was cut short and neat. His most prominent feature, however, were his ears. They were long and pointed, though otherwise human in appearance.

"I don't mean to be rude, but who are you and how did you get in here?"

"_Mortimer. We don't even have the key yet. The door was not locked."_

"Ah."

If the visitor was confused at all at this, he didn't show it. He merely stepped three paces back, took a knee and knelt, his head cast downwards, his hand on his heart.

"My name is Inquell, son of Famulus. I am your Free-Elven valet, my Lord. I am your sworn vassal. Do with me as you will, for my life is yours to command, as was my father's life to your father, as was his mother's life to your grandfather. My line has ever served yours since the day Theodosius freed the first of us."

Mortimer, to his credit, simply took this in his stride. "Well, that's all very well, but that still doesn't explain how you got in."

Inquell looked up and grinned. "I _am _an Elf, my Lord, Free though I may be. We can do things Wizards can't, particularly if we are not restricted in the use of our power." Of course, Mortimer, not knowing much about Elves (or rather, this variety thereof) had no choice but to take him at his word.

"Okay. You may rise."

"Thank you, my Lord." He stood. "I have taken the liberty of unpacking your trunk and putting your things away where appropriate." Indeed, as Mortimer noticed, the room seemed to have gained a wardrobe or two. "Your uniform is ironed and laid out for you. If you wish, I can help you dress."

"No, no, Inquell. I can manage," said Mortimer, climbing out of bed. It was at this point Inquell took note of the fact that he was naked. Mortimer noticed him staring. "Is there a problem?"

In the Castle That Never Was, it is entirely possible to walk the hallways for hours at a time without encountering anyone. Given that the Library of Forgotten Tales did not have en-suite facilities, Mortimer had been obliged to walk to a bathroom about twenty minutes away for his shower each morning. On more than one occasion, lacking a towel, he had simply walked back to the Library without one, allowing himself to drip dry at the same time. After a while, he had simply begun sleeping and making the journey to the bathroom naked as well, reasoning that it would save him both time and pyjamas.

Inquell, not knowing any of this, simply composed himself. "None at all, my Lord. But I would advise you to don clothing if company should be present. Not everyone is as comfortable as you."

Mortimer just shrugged. Before long, Mortimer was dressed and in the central chamber, making a mental note to rename it the Lair for convenience's sake. There was a fresh cup of tea waiting for him on the table, next to a plate of bacon and eggs. He took a few seconds to put his hair into his customary ponytail, and then sat down to eat. Looking to his side, he saw Atramenta with a larger dish of her own, upon which sat an entire pig.

"Sleep well?"

"_Very well, thank you. Though we could stand to make the floor a little more comfortable."_

"I'll speak to the Headmaster about it next time I see him."

During breakfast, he perused his class schedule and made small talk. At five minutes to nine, his empty dishes disappeared. Taking this as a sign he should head out, he stood and donned his Hat.

"Allow me, my Lord," said Inquell. "I can have us there in moments."

And so, after making Atramenta promise to be good until he got back, Mortimer picked up the Grimoire and took Inquell's arm, there one moment and gone the next, a slight mist in his place.


End file.
